


if you want my love you got it

by vlieger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/pseuds/vlieger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So I think we should date," said Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you want my love you got it

**Author's Note:**

> rly not one of my best, sry.

"So I think we should date," said Stiles.

Derek glared at him like he was trying to commit murder with only his eyes.

"Food for thought!" said Stiles, and ran. 

 

It probably wasn't the best time to bring it up, with everything that was going on in general and also how at that exact moment they'd been trying to find Boyd and outrun Allison at the same time, but Stiles figured with Derek there probably wasn't going to be an ideal time ever, and also adrenaline was pretty awesomely helpful sometimes. 

Derek, as he tended to do with Stiles, just carried on like he'd never said anything. 

That was…well, if Stiles regretted doing it then it would be pretty fantastic, but the thing was, he didn't. 

He'd agonised over this Derek thing long enough, and he wanted to _do_ it, or at least put it out there, because…well, the way things were going lately, he couldn't really afford to fuck around.

It was depressing and breathtakingly terrifying, but also kind of liberating. 

 

"So hey, remember what I said the other night?" said Stiles.

Derek just looked at him.

"Don't pretend like you didn't hear, even if you weren't standing right next to me, which you totally were, you probably would've heard from the other end of the woods, you-- you _werewolf_."

"Stiles," said Derek and his face did something complicated, like…like there were too many things he wanted to say and obviously Derek was allergic to speaking more than one sentence at a time, so he just settled on, "No."

"Why?" said Stiles.

"Just…no," said Derek again.

"You know that's not actually an answer," said Stiles. "I'm pretty sure you want to. Am I wrong? I don't think I'm wrong."

"You're wrong," said Derek, and turned to leave.

"If you think that's going to discourage me," Stiles shouted after him, " _You're_ wrong."

 

Scott actually had to come all the way upstairs when he met Stiles before the next pack meeting, because Stiles was taking his sweet-ass time trying to decide which t-shirt would make Derek want to date him more. 

"Hey," he said, glancing up at Scott. "Dude, hypothetically, if you were like, someone I was trying to get a date with, which t-shirt would convince you?"

"...What?" said Scott blankly. "Is this-- is this about Lydia?"

"Oh my God, no," said Stiles. "Come on man, which one makes me look more dateable?"

"I," said Scott. "They all look the same?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Helpful," he said, tilting his head at himself in the mirror.

"Anyway, why?" said Scott. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm initiating a stealthy plan to convince Derek to date me," said Stiles.

Scott just stared at him. "What-- _why?_ " he sputtered eventually. 

"'Cause I'm bored," said Stiles, rolling his eyes again. "Because _I_ want to date him, moron."

"Yeah," said Scott, "But _why?_ "

Stiles tilted his head thoughtfully. There were a lot of things he could say to that. Like how he was starting to notice the way Derek lingered over him in various ways, ways that were just…not quite like anything he did with anyone else. Or how sometimes Stiles went a little bit crazy-- or well, more than usual-- just in an effort to draw out the tiny hitch in the corner of Derek's mouth that meant he was actually amused, _happy_. Even if only for a moment. Or how he felt like for all the ways they were as different as two people could get, there were also some fundamental, really pretty important things about Derek that he got better than anyone. Maybe even better than Derek, because that dude was the poster boy for emotionally repressed, seriously. 

Or he could go for something a bit more straightforward, like how Derek was _hot_ , and Stiles had feelings, yeah, but he also had eyes and teenage boy hormones. 

This was Scott though, and if Stiles knew anything it was how to make Scott understand things. 

"You know how you feel about Allison?" he said.

"Yeah," said Scott. "What-- _oh_. I…really?"

Stiles shrugged, not looking at him. "Yeah," he said. 

 

In the end he decided to bypass subtlety, since that totally wasn't his style, and went for a t-shirt that said _DATE ME_ in huge neon green letters. 

Really, it was too perfect to pass up. Like fate or some shit. 

Scott looked a mixture of amused and horrified and his usual blank. 

"Where did you even get that?" he said. "And more importantly, _why?_ "

"We really need to work on expanding your vocabulary," said Stiles. "It's ironic, dude."

Scott just furrowed his brows.

Stiles shook his head and elbowed him for good measure. 

 

Derek's eyes flicked to Stiles' shirt when they arrived, and Stiles thought maybe his mouth tightened a little, but other than that he didn't even react. 

Stiles lingered after everyone else left, and said to Derek, "My shirt says date me because I want to date you, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't," said Derek. 

"I've been thinking about it a lot," said Stiles. "I'm good at that, you know, don't make that face, and I've come to the conclusion that you like me. Like, _like_ me, like me."

Derek just stared at him.

"Is that a challenge?" said Stiles.

" _No_ ," said Derek. 

"Okay, I'll tell you," said Stiles. 

"I didn't ask," said Derek. "I'm _not_ asking."

"Dude, it's like you don't know me at all." Stiles shook his head. "So, okay, I've been thinking about it a lot, all this stuff that's happened to us, you know, all the near-death experiences and crazy supernatural fighting and whatnot, and like, you _care_ about me."

"You're pack," said Derek, shrugging minutely. 

"Oh my God, was that an admission?" said Stiles gleefully. 

Derek rolled his eyes. "To the fact that you're pack and in that capacity I care about you staying alive, yes," he said. 

"No, but it's like-- I notice things, okay, I know everyone thinks I don't but I _do_ , and you-- you keep freaking out about me like you don't about the others, and you do stupid things to make sure I'm okay that you don't actually _have_ to, and maybe you don't realise you're doing it but it still happens, and it's kind of hard to ignore because it _keeps happening_."

Derek was silent for a very long time. Then he said, "No one thinks you don't notice things."

"I'm not saying you, like, have to date me straight away," said Stiles. "If you…I don't know, need to adjust, I mean, maybe your past relationships weren't exactly…okay, no, don't look at me like that, I'm not going to talk about it. I just. I'm going to stick around, and like, it can be one-sided dating, or-- or pre-dating, that sounds a little less creepy stalker-ish, until you get over your feelings allergy slash personal issues. I'm pretty good at sticking things out." 

"You're pretty good at being freaking annoying," said Derek.

Stiles waved a hand. "Water and ducks, dude, I get that so often I'm immune."

"Great." Derek rolled his eyes.

 

"How do you feel about dinner?" said Stiles, grinning hugely and hopefully winningly as he stood on Derek's doorstep.

"Like I want to have it alone," said Derek pointedly.

"Not gonna happen, man, I'm here, I have takeout and I'm _starving_ ," said Stiles, pushing past Derek and into the living room, which was still kind of depressing and burnt-out looking, but it had a couch.

He wondered absently when he'd gone from being mortally terrified of Derek to happily imposing on him without worrying about being ripped apart for his trouble. 

Derek followed him as far as the doorway and stood there with his arms folded, frowning.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I know your super lycanthropic senses can smell this deliciousness, stop fronting," he said, opening one of the boxes and digging in.

He threw Derek another grin for good measure, mouth full.

Derek looked like he was having a hard time picking a facial expression between disgusted and disapproving. 

"Dude," said Stiles, swallowing, "I'm not going to leave until the food's gone, so you can stand in the doorway all threatening if you want, but if you help me eat it I'll be out of your hair quicker."

Derek looked torn, but eventually moved-- a bit more warily than was necessary, honestly, the dude was more ridiculous than scary, Stiles wasn't sure how he hadn't realised that immediately-- to sit on the other end of the couch, and picked up a carton at random. 

Stiles nodded approvingly, then looked around the room. "We really need to renovate in here," he said. "At least get a TV."

"There is no _we_ ," growled Derek. He ate a measured mouthful of Kung Pao chicken and then added, "And I don't need a TV."

"Blasphemy," said Stiles. "Everyone needs a TV."

Derek rolled his eyes and didn't answer. 

"Hey," said Stiles, shrugging, "If you have a TV there's less need for me to fill the silence by talking, right?"

"I don't need the silence filled at all," said Derek. "I like silence."

Stiles scoffed. "Silence is overrated," he said, shovelling noodles into his mouth. "Hey, by the way, next time you're paying for dinner."

"There won't be a next time," said Derek.

"Whatever you say, dude." Stiles grinned and ducked the pillow Derek threw at him. 

 

"Yo," said Stiles the next time he turned up unannounced at Derek's place. 

Derek sighed long-sufferingly. "Seriously, Stiles?" he said.

"As a heart attack," said Stiles. "I brought movies. And a computer so we can actually watch them, since you refuse to get a TV, you complete freak."

"I don't think you understand the concept of that word," said Derek. 

"I do though," said Stiles. "Werewolves, not freaky. Not wanting a TV, _totally_ freaky. See? Concept grasped."

"Just get inside and get this over with," said Derek, turning away. 

"Oh my God, does this mean I'm starting to wear you down?" Stiles grinned and tripped after him.

" _No_ ," said Derek. 

"Whatever, I totally am," said Stiles. He threw himself onto the couch and pulled out his laptop and the DVDs, the latter of which he waved enticingly (well, he could hope) at Derek. "I put these on your account at the video store, by the way, since you won't pay for dinner. I'm going to accumulate an overdue fee that's the equivalent of one round of takeout."

Derek frowned. "I don't have an account at the video store," he said.

"You do now," said Stiles.

Derek Frowned at him (yeah, capitalised and all). 

"Whatever, you can thank me later," said Stiles. "Sit. Watch. I won't even talk, I promise."

Derek made a disbelieving noise low in his throat, but sat. 

 

He considered, like, making some kind of _move_ a while into the night, but Derek hadn't even protested when he put in the second movie, so he felt like that would maybe be pushing his luck a bit. 

Also, he didn't really know how to go about making any kind of move. It wasn't like he had much (or okay, any) experience there. 

Derek probably did, but he wasn't being helpful or forthcoming at all, just sitting there with his arms folded and his stupid stoic face. 

In the end Stiles mentally threw up his hands and said, "You know, this is totally where you should be making a move."

Derek slanted him a disapproving glance. "Considering I've been against this from the start," he said, "No."

"You're here though," Stiles pointed out.

"No," said Derek, " _You're_ here."

"Semantics." Stiles waved a hand. 

"You should go," said Derek. "Don't you have school tomorrow?"

Stiles blinked at him. "Wow," he said. "Low blow, man."

Derek just shrugged. 

"Okay," said Stiles. "That's cool. I'll go. I'll be back though, you know that, right?"

Derek didn't say anything, just sat with his arms still folded while Stiles packed up his stuff and left. 

 

At that point he might have been led into thinking his plan of seduction or whatever wasn't having any effect on Derek, except two nights later he woke up sometime around 3am and Derek was just _there_ , leaning against the wall next to his window, watching him. 

"Oh my God," said Stiles thickly, flailing and getting himself impossibly tangled in the blankets as he struggled upright. " _Dude_. You are channelling some serious Twilight creepiness there, holy shit."

Derek didn't say anything. Stiles blinked to clear his eyes and peered at him. He looked sort of-- frustrated. 

"What?" said Stiles. "What? Is this you snapping? Are you trying to figure out the most effective way to kill me? Or-- oh, hey, have you changed your mind about the whole dating thing?"

"No," said Derek. 

"To which part?" Stiles frowned.

"All of it," said Derek. 

"You…okay," said Stiles slowly. 

Derek growled. It wasn't his _hey I'm about to rip you to shreds_ growl, more like his _shut the fuck up Stiles, you goddamned annoying motherfucker, I'm trying to be all serious and wolfy_ growl. 

Yeah, maybe Derek hadn't quite cornered the market on creepiness. Whatever. Still.

"Dude," said Stiles, "I'm still not any clearer on what the hell you're actually _doing_ here."

Derek shook his head and vaulted out the window.

Stiles stared. "Weirdo," he said. And added, after a moment, "Yeah, I know you can hear me. You're totally weird, but I still want to date you."

He thought he heard a muted growl in response. He went back to sleep grinning, satisfied. 

 

So, like, things were going pretty well then. Obviously that was why it all kind of went to shit from thereon out. 

 

It was eerie, how expected it was when Stiles got called out of class by his dad's deputy. Like everything in him had been coiled up waiting for this moment.

It didn't stop him from throwing up in one of the trashcans just outside the classroom though, and failing utterly at steeling himself in any noticeable sense before he asked, "What happened?"

"Look, it's not serious," said the deputy.

"What _happened_ ," said Stiles desperately. 

"Your dad-- " He paused while Stiles threw up again. "Relax, kid. Your dad got shot, okay, but he's _fine_ , he just got caught in the arm, and-- "

"Where is he?" said Stiles, already sprinting for the exit. He tripped and landed on his face once before he made it through the doors. He distanty registered something that was probably blood dripping from his nose. "Hospital? Does he need surgery? Who shot him? Was it on purpose? Where's your car?" 

"Right here," said the deputy, pointing. "I'll drive you there. Everything else, you need to talk to your dad, okay?"

Stiles didn't answer. He was too busy biting down on his lip so hard he drew blood. 

 

"Dad!" he shouted, bursting into the emergency room so fast he ran headlong into the desk.

"Sheriff Stilinski?" said the nurse on duty, not even batting an eyelid. 

Stiles just nodded. 

"Through here," she said, putting a hand on his elbow and leading him through a few doors, Stiles wasn't really paying attention, and finally to a room where his dad was sitting up in bed, looking pissed.

" _Sheriff_ ," said the nurse, letting go of Stiles to march over to the bed and forcibly push Stiles' dad onto his back. "Do we need to go through the definition of 'rest' again?"

The sheriff rolled his eyes and looked at Stiles.

"What the hell _happened?_ " said Stiles, zeroing in on the heavy bandaging on his dad's left bicep. 

"It was stupid," said his dad, "And I'm _fine_ , Stiles. Stiles!" 

Stiles snapped his eyes from the bandage to his dad's face.

"I'm fine, do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," said Stiles, swallowing. 

"Hey, come here." The sheriff held his uninjured arm out. Stiles stepped closer, and his dad curled a hand around his wrist, almost bruising. "It was stupid," he said again. "Home invasion callout went south. Should've known better."

"I," started Stiles, and then stopped. "Are you sure that's all it was?"

"What else would it be?" said his dad.

Stiles shook his head. All he could think was _trap_ and _hunters_ and other equally terrifying things, but he couldn't really say that to his dad.

He wished, suddenly and randomly and _achingly_ , that Derek was here. 

"Anyway," said his dad, "I don't have to stay here, thank God, so as soon as everything's sorted we can go home, okay?"

"Okay," said Stiles. 

 

They'd dosed the sheriff up on some pretty heavy painkillers before they let him out of the hospital, so by the time they made it home all Stiles could do was guide him to bed and stare for a long time at the worry lines still there on his dad's face as he slept, before he blinked and snuck quietly out.

He went to his room and sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands and just tried to remember how to breathe.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, but the next time he looked up, Derek was there.

"You didn't come to the meeting today," he said. "Scott said your dad-- "

"It's fine," said Stiles, and it was, except for how it really, really wasn't. "He's fine. I'm fine."

Derek didn't say anything. 

"Ugh," said Stiles, and it came out kind of choked, fuck, "Stop it with your-- your knowing silences."

Derek said, "What happened? Do you know who it was?"

Stiles shook his head. "Dad said it was a home invasion that went bad." He looked at Derek. "It could've-- it could've been _them_ , right? Or someone trying to get to us, trying to get to _me_."

"To me," said Derek. "Through you."

"Do you-- "

"I don't know," said Derek. "Maybe, maybe not. Maybe your dad's right. I'll find out."

Stiles felt sick.

He got up to…he wasn't sure, just turn away maybe, except when he stood everything spun around him and the whole breathing thing kind of went right out the window. 

He put a hand up and caught the wall and distantly heard Derek saying, "Stiles? _Stiles_ , what's happening?"

"Nothing," he managed to choke out. "Nothing, it's-- just a panic attack, I'm fine."

"You're not fine," said Derek, suddenly much closer, Stiles could see his outline through his slightly blurry vision. "Stiles. What do I do?"

"Nothing," said Stiles, mostly failing to hold in a sudden, hysterical laugh. 

"Stiles," said Derek through gritted teeth. 

"It's a panic attack," said Stiles. "You can't-- I can't-- Derek."

"Hey," said Derek, and put a stilted hand on the small of his back. "Can you sit down?"

"I," said Stiles.

Derek sort of…gently manhandled him to sit on the edge of the bed. Stiles leaned forward over his hands. They were shaking. 

"Stiles," said Derek. "I don't know what to do."

Stiles registered dimly that that was kind of huge, coming from Derek. 

It was weird, how that was the thing that made it easier to breathe, in the end, for the haze of panic to slowly clear enough that he could think, that he could feel like the world wasn't closing in on him. 

"It's fine," he said, breathing out heavily, long and slow. 

"Stop saying that," said Derek tightly. 

"No, I mean." Stiles shook his head. "It's better now, I. Thanks."

Derek looked a little sceptical and utterly baffled. "I didn't do anything," he said blankly. 

"You were…you." Stiles shrugged. "It helped. Don't ask me why."

"Okay," said Derek slowly. 

Stiles nodded and kept his eyes trained on his lap, turning his hands over so his wrists faced the light. He felt so _weak_. 

"It's going to be fine," he said, mostly to himself. It didn't sound very convincing, even to him. 

Derek said, "I should go."

It was more than he ever offered; usually he'd just leave without saying anything. 

It was…it sounded almost like a question, or a hesitation, and Stiles said…well, what he probably would've said anyway, but he was maybe more hopeful about the answer. "Don't."

"Stiles," said Derek. 

"Just-- shut up," said Stiles. "Stay, okay?"

Derek gave him an odd look; like a concerted effort not to glare, but it wasn't really working. 

"You suck at not being an angry werewolf," said Stiles. 

"Shut up," said Derek. His mouth twitched, just the tiniest hint, and he pushed at Stiles until Stiles got the hint and lay down on the bed so Derek could slot up behind him, slinging an arm over his waist. 

It was-- well, Stiles could breathe easy again now but he felt almost like he _shouldn't_ , like that was how easily this moment could shift or shatter. 

Derek was tense against his back, his arm not quite the dead weight of a relaxed person. Stiles huffed a laugh and said, "You don't do this a lot, do you?"

"Never," said Derek. 

"Oh," said Stiles. There was something warm and fizzy and entirely new pooling somewhere low in his belly, and he didn't really know what to do with it, but Derek tightened his arm just a little and Stiles felt, for the moment, pretty unbelievably really, just... _okay_. 

That was his last real thought before he fell asleep, and it was nice, drifting off like that for once, safe and content and not thinking about anything.

When he woke in the morning Derek was gone, but the space next to Stiles on the bed was still warm, and he could still feel where Derek's arm had stayed in place the entire night. 

 

The other thing was that when he went outside the next day to go to school (his dad, apparently, was not so doped up that he couldn't insist Stiles wasn't allowed to stay home), his Jeep was there.

He hadn't actually thought about it at all, but obviously he'd left it at school yesterday. 

He pulled out his phone after he slid into the driver's seat.

 _howd you get the car back?_ he texted. _i still have the keys._

It was maybe half a guess. Someone from the sheriff's department could've got it back, maybe, but he didn't think so.

Derek replied with _hotwired it_ , which pretty much answered his question. Also, of course he'd hotwired it, the psycho.

Stiles was pretty overwhelmingly touched, actually.

 _thanks_ , he said, and threw the phone onto the passenger seat, not expecting an answer. Derek was shitty with texting at best. 

When he checked it before first period though, there was a message waiting. It just said _you're welcome._

 

Derek climbed back in through his window the next afternoon.

"I couldn't find anything," he said without preamble. "I don't think your dad was targeted."

"Oh," said Stiles. He…wasn't actually sure how he felt about that. 

In a way it would've been…not _good_ , obviously, but _something_ , a way to get started with maybe figuring this stuff out, a kind of relief that someone had tried and failed to get to his dad, to him, to them. 

"They're not going to get to him," said Derek.

"Why not?" said Stiles. "He's an easy target, for now at least, right?"

"I'm not," said Derek, baring his teeth. 

Stiles breathed out very deliberately, and rolled his eyes. "Okay, Jason Bourne," he said. "I get it, Stiles is overreacting again, blah, blah."

"You're not overreacting," said Derek weirdly vehemently. 

Stiles blinked at him. "I…thank you?" he said. 

"Don't be stupid," said Derek, and leapt out of the window before Stiles could reply. 

 

It was a weird series of events, definitely kind of surreal, and even weirder how everything then just kind of…went back to normal.

Or well, as normal as things ever were when there were dead people who controlled your friends and were-lizards on _top_ of werewolves and hunters trying to kill almost everyone you knew. 

Not to mention the ever-present mindfuck that was the constant fear of something bad happening to someone you cared about, and not knowing who or when.

Mostly Stiles tried to focus on how his dad was being an unholy pain in the ass about his mandatory recuperative time off work.

It wasn't too hard to do, actually. Stiles knew he could be an annoying shit and his genes came from his dad, so. 

"Dad," he said, "You are not going to go out and _shoot_ our dinner, oh my God."

"It was just a thought," said his dad.

"Yeah, well, stupid thought, _dangerous_ thought, thought born of boredom and seriously warped cabin-fever perspective. No shooting things. I can't believe I'm disciplining you on this, ugh."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" said his dad snippily. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I actually do," he said. "Don't expect that to work every time."

"It'll work if I want it to work," said his dad.

"Why can't you get addicted to Oprah like a normal sick person?" said Stiles.

"I'm not _sick_ ," said his dad. "And Oprah retired last year, Stiles, keep up."

"Oh my God," said Stiles, and fled. 

 

He didn't actually have anywhere to be, so he went to Derek's. 

Derek probably thought he was done with the whole wanting to date thing, but really, Stiles was just more determined. 

He couldn't afford to be pussying around with things that _mattered_ , not when he just…didn't know.

He didn't know anything, couldn't be sure of anything that was going to happen. All he did know was that he wanted this thing with Derek, and fuck if he wasn't going to do everything he could to get it.

 

"Hi," he said when Derek answered his door. "I still want to date you."

"Stiles," said Derek, looking pinched. 

"No, fuck you, okay," said Stiles. "I just…Derek, come on."

"It's too dangerous," said Derek.

"Too dangerous to _date?_ " said Stiles. 

"You're already too involved," said Derek. "You're already a target-- "

"So _nothing's going to change_ , you moron," said Stiles. "Except that I'll get to make out with you. And...stuff. Awesome stuff. Nothing bad. No more bad. Besides, we've already been pretty much dating for a while now, and how many bad things have happened because of it? None, that's how many."

Derek glowered at him. 

Stiles deflated a little. Well, physically. Totally not mentally. He was going to do this shit.

"Look, I just…" He bit down on his lip, shrugging. "Everything's going to shit around us, I don't know if you've noticed, and I think it would be kind of nice to-- to have someone."

"So get someone else," said Derek.

"I want _you_ ," said Stiles. 

"You don't know what you want," said Derek.

"I really, really do," said Stiles. 

"Stiles, just-- " Derek shook his head and cut himself off. "Just go home."

"You can actually have something good, you know," said Stiles. "It doesn't all have to be doom and gloom and freaking-- werewolf emo all the time. I want this, okay, I want-- if I'm going to get killed for all this I want what I _want_ , and that's-- that's you."

"You're not going to get killed," said Derek fiercely. 

"Dude, I'm talking about seizing the day, carpe that fucking diem. I could get run over by a bus or something, you don't know," said Stiles. He tilted his head. "Actually, you know, with everything that's happened to me that'll probably end up being how I go, it-- "

Derek growled and jerked forward and kissed him, sudden and bruising and _claiming_. 

"Holy shit, I _told_ you you wanted me!" said Stiles stupidly when Derek let up. 

Derek looked pained. 

"It's okay," said Stiles. "You don't have to talk about your feelings or anything, just…just don't go back on me now, dude."

Derek stared at him for a long time. "I'm not going to," he said finally. sighing. 

"Sweet," said Stiles. "Really, really sweet. Um. Could you maybe-- maybe do that again, do you think?"

"This is a stupid idea," said Derek.

"I'm the king of stupid ideas, man, and they always work out for me," said Stiles. "You can't deny that."

Derek looked-- he almost looked like he was trying not to smile, which…Stiles couldn't be a hundred per cent sure, obviously, because it wasn't like he wore that expression often. Or ever. 

"Yeah," he said eventually, and kissed Stiles again.

This time it was...different, like, Derek was still fierce about it in a way he probably didn't know how not to be, but it was also almost _careful_ , the way he framed Stiles' face with his stupid huge hands and pressed in slow and oh so fucking firm, so _focused_ , like he didn't want to be half-assed about it, like he wanted to wrap himself all around Stiles and just...not ever stop. 

Which Stiles was cool with. More than cool.

 

They had sex then. _Awesome_ sex. Stiles wasn't so sure at first that it was going to be awesome-- actually, he wasn't sure it was going to happen at all, with the way Derek looked at him once he'd got his shirt off, like…like he didn't know what to _do_ with Stiles. 

Like he was maybe thinking about going back on his decision. 

Obviously it wasn't because he didn't physically know what to do, so Stiles swallowed and said, "We don't have to, if you…" and trailed off. 

Apparently it was the right thing to say, because Derek's eyes snapped back to his face and he growled, rough and raw and _wanting_ , and said, "We do," shoving Stiles down onto his bed. 

And…yeah, it was awesome. It wasn't like Stiles had much (or okay, anything) to compare it to, but he was pretty sure that even if he was some kind of manwhore it would still be the best sex he'd ever had. 

Derek spread him out and bit his way down Stiles' body, leaving wet stinging marks that would linger for days, by the feel of it, on his neck, his collarbones, his sternum, his ribs, just below his navel, the insides of his thighs. 

Then he just…took Stiles dick in his mouth and _sucked_ , which.

"Oh my God," said Stiles. "Derek, you-- you don't have to, I-- "

"I like it," said Derek, pulling off with a wet sound. "I like your smell. I want to taste it."

"Oh my God," said Stiles again, weakly.

Derek was kind of lethal about giving head, which…well, Stiles supposed he should've guessed. 

He took Stiles in all the way and hollowed his cheeks and didn't let up once, and well, there was never much Stiles could do in the face of Derek's intensity, except maybe babble like a moron, and this wasn't any different.

When he came, arching up into Derek and probably making all kinds of stupid noises, it was just…it was just _nothing_ , no anxiety or clenching fear or anything but spine-melting amazingness, and this, well. This was what he'd wanted-- what he'd _hoped_ for-- all along.

"I was so right about this," he said, panting. "Like, _so_ right. You can't argue with me about this ever again, because I have the most irrefutable evidence that ever…refuted?"

"Shut up," said Derek tightly, looming back over him and oh, _oh_ , okay, he still needed to get off, right.

Stiles just kind of stared for a moment, because Derek was right _there_ with all his sweat-slick skin and disgustingly perfect muscles and…and his _dick_ , which was hard and leaking and flushed between the fingers he had wrapped around it. 

"Do you want-- " said Stiles, not really sure what he was offering except for, well, anything. 

Derek made an animal noise and grabbed one of Stiles' hands and then brought them both, fingers tangled, back to his dick. 

"Yeah," said Stiles. "That's…okay, that's a thing, we're doing that, cool."

Derek closed his eyes and tightened his fingers over Stiles', and Stiles didn't have to do much really, just let Derek jerk himself off using both their hands and like, try to memorise the movements and the pressure and the way Derek spit out, " _Shit_ ," and bit down hard on his lip immediately after when Stiles accidentally flicked his thumb over the head of his dick. 

He didn't even realise that the way they were doing this meant that Derek would end up coming all over his chest until…well, Derek came all over his chest. 

Stiles thought about being grossed out for maybe half a second before he caved and admitted that yeah, okay, it was just really fucking hot instead.

"Was that a wolf thing?" said Stiles curiously when Derek rolled to sprawl out beside him. "Like, marking me or something?"

Derek turned his head just enough to give Stiles a Look. 

"What, it's a totally valid question," said Stiles. 

"No," said Derek. "That was just…me."

"Oh," said Stiles. "That's cool. That's like, really cool. Like…yeah." He worked his mouth open and closed a few times at the ceiling and then groped around for something to wipe himself off with-- Derek's t-shirt, okay, hopefully he wouldn't kill Stiles. 

"Did you just ruin my t-shirt?" said Derek, watching him through hooded eyes. 

"I'll buy you a new one," said Stiles, throwing it off the side of the bed and then, like, not cuddling Derek or anything like that, but sort of…tucking himself close into his side and finding the most comfortable place to settle his head. If that happened to be the warm spot between Derek's neck and his shoulder, well, it was a total coincidence.

 

Stiles woke in the morning before Derek; or well, he was pretty sure, because Derek with his head tucked beneath Stiles' chin, cheek pillowed on his chest and an arm slung over his waist didn't really translate to a Derek who was awake and aware of his actions. 

"Oh my God," said Stiles loudly.

Derek jerked awake immediately, goddamn his stupid lycanthropic ears. "What?" he said, blinking up at Stiles. 

"You," said Stiles, " _You_ \-- you're totally a secret cuddler! This is like, the greatest thing I've ever discovered, and I was the one who figured out Scott was a werewolf."

Derek sighed and dropped his head back onto Stiles' chest. "Shut up, Stiles," he said. "Go back to sleep."

Stiles gaped a little bit. Derek's stubble was rough against his skin, he could feel it every time he breathed, and his weight on Stiles was not inconsiderable and maybe objectively not the most comfortable thing ever, but he was all hot skin and solid muscle and Stiles thought yeah, going back to sleep-- _staying_ here a little while longer-- wasn't such a bad idea.

He lifted a tentative hand to settle in Derek's hair and let it relax when Derek didn't say anything or shrug him off. 

"Best bad idea ever," he said, grinning. 

He thought he could feel Derek smile into his skin.


End file.
